The Skipping Stone

I walk. Slowly and deliberately So that the stones strain and screech My feet strain just as equally To keep balance The rocks craft an arch where I have none They are fallen under my feet My eyes scan the coast for perfection A stone: flat, unblemished I find it waiting for me Basking in sunshine and glory Atop a pile of kin and seaweed Washed up among thousands Who wait their turn with grace This one, purple from the rough sand Thinned and polished from years at sea The history oozes through the cracks Into my hands—This stone It knows billions of generations… Of fish--- I hold it gingerly Between my thumb and forefinger Each wave shuts on itself like A treasure chest The crash is deafening but It makes you feel secure Your treasure is safe The foam licks the coast Mouth watering for the treasure The tide begs me Hungry for its anticipated sweet return I curve my arm and snap back Sending the stone sailing It hops once, twice, again Nature’s own da Vinci float For a fleeting moment And then it disappears Not lost at sea But given a chance to begin again

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